


Truths

by isabeau



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Kinda old fic (pre-2005), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-01
Updated: 2005-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-18 07:35:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isabeau/pseuds/isabeau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some people say true things. Some people lie. Some people do both at the same time....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truths

_/one : spoken/_

They all talk, on the train to Hogwarts, nervous chatter of frightened children going to their first year and pretending they're neither frightened nor new.

"I'll be put in Gryffindor, I know I will," one girl says stubbornly, and her chin tilts up.

"Me too."

"I'll be in Ravenclaw, I bet," another child says, in a high squeaky voice. "Me parents were, and their parents before them. It's in me blood, it is."

Severus stays silent.

When, inevitably, they ask where he thinks he'll be, where he wants to be, he just says indifferently, "I will be put where I belong."

They shrug and laugh and pay him no more attention; but there is an older boy with white hair and pale eyes who watches him intently for a time. Severus flicks him a sullen glare and then stares out the window. He pretends to pay no attention to the other children on the train, but is nevertheless intensely aware of the older boy approaching him and asking, in a quiet voice, where he thinks he belongs.

The boy is not dressed in his Hogwarts robes, but it is nevertheless clear which House he belongs to. Severus just lifts one eyebrow and sneers. He doesn't want to answer the question, so he doesn't.

When they get to Hogwarts, some of them do not go where they expect; some do. The pale-eyed boy, sitting at the Slytherin table, watches Severus as he walks unafraid to the Sorting Hat.

"You belong in Slytherin," the Hat whispers into his mind, and then repeats the last word aloud for the entire hall to hear.

Severus doesn't smile; the pale-eyed boy doesn't either, but there is approval in his eyes.

  


 _/two : silenced/_

There is a boy in his House, in his hall: a boy with fine white hair tied back in a short tail, a boy with strange pale unfriendly eyes and slender aristocratic hands and a silky cool voice.

There is a boy in his arms, in his bed: a boy with a gentle touch and kisses like wine, a boy with pale skin that seems paler against the dark hair that spills against that skin when they kiss.

There is a boy in his heart, in his soul: a boy who owns him and doesn't know it, a boy who would have scoffed and called it obsession if he'd known. He himself would scowl, if it were ever spoken.

There is a boy he loves, who loves him back, and neither of them can say anything about it.

  


 _/three : whispered/_

"Come with me," Lucius says. His fingers, long and slender and cool, lace with Severus'. "Come."

"I... No." Severus isn't quite sure why he's hesitating, but he does, and Lucius frowns.

"Frightened?" His lip curls elegantly. "I wouldn't have thought that of you. Besides-- you want what Lord Voldemort wants. There's nothing to be lost by joining his side."

Severus narrows his eyes slightly. His mind is made up, but with perverse curiosity, he stalls, almost sourly: "And if I don't?"

"Then you have everything to lose." Lucius steps closer, pressing his lips to Severus', brushing their bodies together in a slow tease that isn't quite enough to be friction. "Would you give this up?"

"No." The word is shaky, and Severus clings to Lucius like he's drowning.

"Then don't." Lucius' words, like his touch, seep into Severus like poisoned wine, intoxicating and strong. "Come with me. Be a Death Eater."

"Yes." Severus leans forward, and thinks dizzily that he would do anything Lucius asked.

  


 _/four : abandoned/_

"Severusssss." The last sound is drawn out, like the hiss of a hungry snake. "Come here."

He obeys, head bowed, moving with obedient grace that he'd practiced in front of the mirror. "Yes, Lord," he says.

"I have a... task for you." Voldemort's thin clawlike fingers give a languid flick; Severus can hear someone being brought out, bound and struggling, but he doesn't raise his head yet. "This one is not loyal to me-- to us. I want you to kill him."

Severus looks up, meets pale desperate eyes, and freezes. "Lucius," he mouths, but does not voice the name aloud.

Voldemort watches them both, his eyes cold and reptilian. "I will not tolerate any measure of disloyalty or betrayal," he purrs. "This one has failed me. He is not worthy."

Lucius does not deny the claim; then again, Severus thinks, Lucius would not, because denial wouldn't do any good. It never does, with Voldemort, part.

Lucius is as faithful to Voldemort's cause as any other purebred wizard. Severus knows this. Voldemort, he thinks, should know it as well. He glances up, meets Voldemort's narrow heavy-lidded gaze, and wonders exactly how much Voldemort knows.

Lucius is on his knees, hands bound, a cut on his temple bleeding slowly; he is waiting to die. His eyes shine with tears. "Please," he whispers, hoarsely, watching Severus with an intent gaze. "Please."

Please, Severus thinks.

Please kill him?

Please let him live?

Please.

"I'm sorry," Severus whispers, and he aims his wand with a steady hand and trembling gaze.

  


 _/five : remembered/_

"You," Lucius says, "are insane."

Severus doesn't respond, but he finds his mouth curving in a tight, uncontrollable smirk. Now that the trial has passed, now that he's won--

( _won?_ a voice inside him echoes mockingly. _You don't win, not against Lord Voldemort_ )

\--now that it's over, the strange wintry calmness that had possessed him is gone, leaving fire and fear and adrenaline in its wake.

Lucius looks at him with pale eyes full of scorn. "Insane," he repeats, and shakes his head, not quite sneering. "Who the hell says 'no' to Voldemort?"

"I do," Severus says. "Apparently." There is a part of him that wants to laugh, shaky and hysterical. He forces that part of him back down, hides it inside where no one will see it.

"You--" Lucius breaks off, abruptly; for a moment, he looks vulnerable, but that is replaced a moment later by a carefully constructed fury. Finally, coldly, he says, "You do realize that Voldemort will find a way to make you pay for this?"

It is not, Severus thinks, what Lucius started to say, what he wanted to say. Severus gives a shrug and a thin smile. "Undoubtedly," he murmurs.

"I didn't realize you had a death wish."

Severus kisses him. Lucius has lips like ice that, after a heartbeat, melt against his.

Lucius whispers his name, shakily, when they part again. One of Lucius' fingers traces paths over Severus' face, like he can't believe Severus is actually there, like he doesn't believe Severus will be there in the morning. His eyes burn. "Do you know how lucky you are to still be alive?"

Severus knows; he cannot help but know, cannot help but remember. There are flashes of memory too new to be suppressed -- the feel of the words of death, unspoken on his lips, coiling smoothly like a snake preparing to strike; the startled look in Lucius' eyes, when Severus held those words back; the expression on Voldemort's face when Severus spoke to him in a clear, steady voice that did not sound like his own.

He remembers saluting Voldemort with his wand and spinning on his heel, fully expecting to hear a hissed *avada kedavra* as he walked away.

"No," he says. "Tell me."

Lucius pulls Severus close, kissing him hard and desperate on the mouth. "I hate you," he says, a noise that's half sob.

Severus closes his eyes and leans toward him. "I know," he says.

  


 _/six : discarded/_

"You are getting married," Severus says, flatly.

It is not a question, and Lucius gives him a long, cool look before responding. "Those wizards who remain pure must continue the bloodline. It is expected of me-- of all of us."

Severus steps forward, grasping Lucius' arm. His grip is not tight enough even to bruise, but he knows Lucius can feel the power behind it. "Expected," he spits. He is not sure whether he is more hurt or more angry, and so he takes refuge in the anger. "When have you cared about what is expected of you?"

"I always care." Lucius pulls back. Severus cannot read his expression, and that more than anything is what keeps him from pursuing.

"You are a fool. She cannot--" Severus stops, on the verge of saying too much. "She cannot give you what you need," he finally says, the words halting.

"What I need?" Lucius echoes, mocking. "I see. And what do you know of that, Severus?"

The silence stretches between them, fragile; the slightest touch will shatter it. Severus pulls his hands back into the long sleeves of his robe and gives Lucius a disdainful look in answer.

He almost expects Lucius to simply leave. He does not; instead, he stares at Severus for a moment, and then his eyes light up with amusement and he gives a startled, derisive laugh. "You're jealous."

Severus shrugs. He does not trust himself to reply.

"Ha." Lucius' cane moves, a gesture as swift as a snake's strike, to touch the side of Severus' head with surprising gentleness. The silver snake-head tip is cool against Severus' cheek. "You," he says again, "are... jealous."

Severus looks at him. There is a brief flare of anger that throbs like fire through his veins before he damps it down again. "Yes," he says, simply. "What did you expect? _I loved you_."

The words hang in open air between them. Lucius' eyes are narrow, all of a sudden, and his smile is gone. Lips thin, jaw tight, Severus pulls away from the poison touch of his cane. "If you will excuse me," he says, more coolly than he intends, "I have other things that need my attention."

After a long moment, Lucius nods slowly. "Good day, Severus."

Severus knows he will not see Lucius again, not for a long time. In his mind, he takes two steps forward and kisses Lucius; in his mind, Lucius responds, pressing into his touch with silent need. In his mind, Lucius does not marry, and never will.

Severus has had long practice with hiding what is in his mind.

"Good day," he says evenly, and whirls with practiced grace. He does not look back.

  


 _/seven : imagined/_

The boy has his eyes.

Severus watches unsmiling as they approach, young frightened first-years not sure what to expect. One by one, they approach the Hat to be Sorted, and all the while Severus does not take his eyes away from the boy who looks like Lucius.

 _You did not tell me you had a son,_ he tells Lucius in his mind.

 _You did not ask,_ comes the imagined reply, with an arrogant tilt of the head.

The boy steps forward with a Slytherin's elegant grace, when it is his turn, and the Sorting Hat calls his House almost before it is set on the boy's head. There is a proud smile on the boy's face, an echo of his father's practiced sneer.

 _It was not my place to ask,_ Severus tells Lucius in his mind.

 _Then it was not my place to tell you._ Cool, unfriendly, and Severus smiles a little and dismisses the image.

There is one child among the rest that everyone watches, a boy with dark messy hair that flops erratically down but doesn't quite cover a scar everyone knows is there. When his name is called, a hush descends on the Hall, and the Dark Arts professor sitting at Snape's right side gives a muffled squeak. It is a long moment before the Sorting Hat declares the boy to be Gryffindor.

Severus watches this with all the others, but then his eyes slide back to Lucius' boy, who sits slouched in his seat at the Slytherin table. All of the Slytherins have nearly-identical contemptuous looks on their faces.

It would be easy for Severus to imagine Lucius there among them, his elegant mouth curved in a sneer. It would be easy for him to imagine watching Lucius instead of his son. It would be easy for him to imagine those pale, pale eyes flicking up to meet his own gaze steadily.

It would be easy.

He does not.

  


 _/eight : renewed/_

"Severus."

He does not startle easily; he is too used to Slytherins disturbing him at odd hours. The students, however, normally knock, and this is no student. "I lock my door," he says mildly, without turning around.

"I know," Lucius says, unrepentant. When Severus does turn around, the pale eyes have a familiar ice in them. "I trust you are aware of my son."

Severus nearly smiles, but in the end his mouth twists into something that is more of a scowl. How could he not be aware? "Yes." He is almost tempted to inform Lucius that his son had been Sorted as a Gryffindor, simply to see the reaction. But he suppresses that temptation, and says instead, "He was Sorted into Slytherin."

Lucius' expression does not change. "You will watch over him."

It is not a question, and Severus does not answer it with more than a steady look. Lucius gives him a thin smile, and makes no move to leave.

His son, Severus knows, is not the reason why Lucius came. It is an excuse, but a fragile one only. "Why are you here?" he asks, finally.

"You know why."

It is no answer, and they both know it. Severus stands before him, watching with an intent gaze that rarely fails to make any Hogwarts student squirm. As the silence stretches out, Lucius begins to show signs of unease, subtle if you did not know how to read him. Severus raises an eyebrow and continues to wait.

Finally, Lucius' gaze drops away. "You were right, you know," he says, the words slow and almost uncertain. He swallows hard. "On the one hand, Narcissa can do what you cannot; she has given me a son."

Mouth pinched tightly together, Severus waits for the elaboration that he knows will follow.

"But..." The words seem to come unwillingly out of Lucius, pulled out by some invisible, irresistible force. "You can do what she cannot."

"Ah," Severus says, and nothing more.

Lucius hesitates another moment, and then lifts his head. The arrogance shining in his eyes is familiar, far more familiar than the earlier hesitation. "I leave my son in your care," he says. "Try to return him in one piece."

Severus' mouth twitches, but he still says nothing. Lucius gives him one last unreadable look and then turns to leave.

The coin that Severus tosses clangs dully at Lucius' heels, and stops him better and faster than words could. Lucius stands stiff and unmoving for a moment, and then turns, staring down at the coin with something approaching distaste. "What is this?"

"Money," Severus says, dryly.

"I can see that." Lucius turns his glare on Severus instead of the coin. "Why?"

"Because," Severus says, keeping his tone mild, "it has been far too long without word from you. I can only assume that your owl has died."

One galleon is not enough to purchase a new owl, even if Lucius were in need. It is symbolic more than anything, and a flash of anger in Lucius' eyes shows that he understands. "You are assuming that I wished to ever contact you."

Severus says nothing; he does not need to.

"Good day," Lucius says, the words cold and final. He turns again.

"Lucius."

There is something in his voice that he has not heard in a long time, raw emotion that he cannot control, cannot hide. Lucius, when he stops and looks back, has a momentary flicker of surprise passing across his face.

In his mind, Severus says, _It is too late._

In his mind, he says, _I have forgotten you._

In his mind, he says, _Good evening, Lucius._

Aloud, he says nothing. He merely steps forward, and pulls Lucius towards him, and kisses Lucius gently on the mouth. He says nothing, even when they part again, and Lucius looks at him.

"Severus--"

Severus silences him with one long finger pressed to Lucius' mouth. After a pause, that mouth curves in a smile. Lucius makes no further move to speak, but he also makes no further move to leave.

For a long time, there are no words between them, because all the lies have been spoken already.


End file.
